Mistletoe
by Lcsaf
Summary: Even after a year, Queen Snow White is still a student learning about things like herbology and time honored traditions.


**DISC****LAIMER:** How I moan that I do not own.

**A/N:** A Christmas present of sorts for _**AughraOfEarth**_, and all of you dear readers. Enjoy.

**_Edit:_**_ 2.1.2014 Apologies for the bevy of mistakes that came with this original post. I've gone back to fix them. Anything left is unbeta-ed and therefore, my own fault. Posted originally 25.12.2013_

* * *

Snow White's sovereign reign is an adjustment to them all, not the least to the Queen herself. She is both a leader and a student, frantically going from meetings to lessons and back again with the Duke and William at her side. She must learn to read and write (though the latter is of her own pushing, wanting to make letters more than just the ones that spell out her name), to learn of numbers to make decisions on her people and her admittedly small, but willing army. There are harvest notes and treasury accounts and all manner of history and geography lessons that she was only just beginning to be taught as a child before Ravenna ensnared her father. The few Ladies of court have _tried_ to instruct her in the gentler arts and pursuits that are more suited to a woman of her station and breeding, but for Snow-who has held a sword in her hand, who has been taught how to defend herself from physical attacks and who has now shed blood for her own kingdom-dancing and needlework are of very little use in her curriculum. She has not survived thus far by being a dainty princess anymore.

So instead of Ladies' interest, Her Majesty manages to escape once a week to visit her dwarven companions, who teach her more about the land and the magic of it that ties itself to her, than any of her books or other tutors. They live off the land and so through them, Snow learns of trees and birds and which berries are the best to eat and which are poisonous, which plants can be used in poultices to heal and soothe and what will kill. It is matter of fact lessons sparsely sprinkled with their own brand of humour and so she thinks nothing of it when she questions the unusual clump of bright green oval leaves and waxy white berries in a birch tree and Beith scoffs and explains that the plant is a parasite and moves on to other topics.

* * *

Time marches on and though Ravenna's gone, the first winter of Snow's reign reminds too many of the depressing effect the Dark Queen had over the land as trees lose what little leaves they had just started to grow and the earth once again becomes hard and cold as snow covers the ground and the world grows darker for a while. Perhaps that is why many of her advisors hesitantly approach the subject of old holiday celebrations in the time of her father and tentatively ask if it might be possible to revive that.

The Queen has fair few memories of the gay time in the castle during The Season when her mother was alive, if she digs deep enough in her mind: a large room full of laughter and feasts and dancing and lively music and rich, colourful gowns in every hue. It's been a long time since she was that little princess and though the kingdom is slowly but surely growing from the depressing time of Ravenna, it is not ready for the display of excess her father was known for-not when there are so many still in need-and frankly, neither is Snow, but she does agree that at least some celebrations would not go amiss.

There is to be a week of feasting and festivities where Queen Snow White will open her castle to her people and all are invited to join Her Majesty in celebrating during the Winter Solstice. Heralders are dispatched to spread the news throughout the land. Snow makes sure that those closest to her are specifically invited as personal friends of the Queen and prays that they will attend, more specifically, that a certain blue-eyes Huntsman will be there.

She's found she's misses Eric in the spaces she has a moment to herself to breathe. He left so suddenly after her coronation, no words spoken, but there had been something in his eyes when she'd desperately locked gazes with him, she had been sure there was a spark-a connection between them. He'd been trying to convey something, she wasn't quite positive of what, but she knew somehow in her heart that it had been important.

She'd only heard about him twice in passing, in reports, as she'd sent a team of men out to scout her land and tally her people, both for a rough census and as a way to take stock of the damage the Dark magic had left her kingdom in. Both reports mention that a Huntsman of his description had been spotted passing through a small village, doing what work he could and claiming to be just passing through, with no clear indication where he was headed. She's heard nothing from the man himself, directly.

He had been a steady hand on her shoulder to guide her and the stoic solidity he showed during their travels was somehow comforting and reassuring to her. He'd been the first person she'd spoken to after she freed herself from her prison in the tower and Snow was the first to admit that he dominated her experience in her quest to save her father's kingdom from Ravenna. To disappear like he did, so quickly left her feeling slightly adrift in the large sea of her expected Rule.

* * *

The castle buzzes with activity as preparations are made for the celebrations and before she can fully realize it, Snow finds herself seated at the high table on the first night of feasting, watching the others.

"You've been staring at everyone all night," Duke Hammond whispers in her ear with a sort of amused fondness. "Perhaps your people would greatly benefit seeing their rightful Queen joining in the merriment?"

She flushes both at being called out and the gentle rebuke and she supposes that's how she's found herself twirling with the others in one of the proper group dances that the Head Lady in Waiting had finally put her foot down and insist Her Majesty learn for the sake of her dignity at the festivities. Clasp hands, pass, clasp other hands and return, back, forward, spin, next partner...the movements each flow into the next until the dancers all become a blur and Snow finds herself grateful that she's been at least drilled in this particular dance so often that she can do it without really focusing because she pulls up short at the sight of a familiar figure standing in one of the darker corners, watching. All of her moves are automatic, as she finishes the round with her current partner, and begs out the next dance in favour of joining the man she spotted only moments ago.

He'd came, her heart sings. She takes a minute to appreciate the difference since the last time she'd seen him. He'd been clean on the day of her crowning, having had a bath only that morning, but nothing compares to him now. In the time he had been gone, the Huntsman has clearly had a trim to both his hair and beard and traded in his leather trappings of his trade to a nicer set of clothing in deep hunter green and dark brown. The cut and colours flatter him and something about his stance catches her interest. She knows he's uneasy because he's never held much stock with all the frippery of the Court, but he stands true and the sorrow that had so weighted his shoulders during their time in the Dark Forest has taken its leave of him. It makes him appear taller and broader than she remembered. Something very feminine in her takes note of this, and it was with some small disconcertion that Snow notices more than one pair of feminine eyes upon him.

He, however, never breaks his gaze from her as she approaches him.

They stare at each other for a long moment before he finally dips his head, the only concession he'd gives to her station. "Your Majesty," he greets wryly in that same rough voice she'd admit only to herself that she heard in her head sometimes.

"You came," she says, drinking him in now that she's standing in front of him.

"Aye," he replies. "It was made clear that Friends of the Crown were wanted at the festivities." He eyes the floor and food for a second before fixing his gaze back on her.

She flushes. When she'd asked that all of her companions be personally invited, she had trusted the scribe and the messengers to convey her wishes without dictating anything. Apparently they'd been a bit enthusiastic in their approach.

"I'd just…hoped that you would all be able to attend. To celebrate….with me…" she explains haltingly. It's nearly been a year since she's taken the throne, she's come a long way from the girl in the tower, so shy and afraid, but all her composure and poise leave her in the face of this man who still makes her feel both defiant and unable to fend for herself. Especially when he's smirking at her like that. "You're teasing me," she accuses.

"You're learning," he answers with laughter in his voice.

"Will you dance?" she asks suddenly, not quite sure where that question came from.

Neither does he, apparently, as the expression on his face relays that. "Don't let these gladrags fool ya' Majesty. I'd break everyone's toes as soon as I'd step to dance."

"Snow," she breaks in. "My name is Snow."

"I know."

She only barely stops herself from biting her lip at his expression, which is far too guarded. "Will you use it? My name?" She's used his before, but only twice, since he only saw fit to grace her with his name the night before her coronation. But Eric has only called her 'Trouble' or 'Princess', the latter more of a pet name than her actual title. Being crowned has changed so much, but Snow somehow still feels on uneven ground with the man who ultimately saved her life. She wishes them to be equals.

The Huntsman glances beyond her shoulder once more. "Your Council would have me hanged for being so familiar."

That he speaks of her Council instead of her irks her for some reason. As if they were the ultimate authority. She stands up straight. "My Council answers to _me_, not the other way around."

He appears amused with her statement. "Growing your spine, then," he notes. He becomes solemn again as she stays silent. After an uncomfortable time under her wide eyes, he nods once. "If her Royal Highness wishes, I will call you Snow…in private." It was one thing to speak with the young Queen as a friend, but to undermine her position in a powerful and public place such as her Court would be a most grievous error.

She smiles then, looking truly beautiful. The Fairest of Them All.

"Go return to your guests," he instructs quietly. "They are here to see their Queen." And were currently seeing her spend an unusual amount of time of a lowly Huntsman.

"Will you still be here when I return?" She's felt the spark between them again, in their conversation as he teased her and her volleying back. It was this that she missed the most in his time away and she's afraid he'll vanish again if she turns her back on him.

"I'll be around."

Reluctantly, she returns to the merriment, dancing and feasting and accepting best wishes for the Solstice from her people, but it's not long that she endures it before she finds a way back to Eric, who is talking with Muir and the other dwarves. After an appropriate length of time she convinces Eric to join her for a circuit of the great hall, to better people watch and speak without being too closely followed.

A particular sight stops her as they round the tables set aside for eating. A young man and woman are sharing an intimate moment in one of the open doorways that has been casually decorated with a familiar green sprig of oval leaves and white berries.

"What are they doing?" Snow White asks, watching the couple.

Eric stares at her incredulously before trying to answer. "I know you know what-"

Unbidden, a blush blooms across her face. "I know that they're kissing!" she insists a little breathlessly. "I meant 'why?'. They aren't the first ones I've seen over there tonight." In fact, that's the third couple she's seen in that particular spot, engaging in the same activity.

Obviously relieved with not having to be the one to explain the concept of kissing to the young Queen, Eric trains his eyes in the doorway to determine the cause. "They're standing underneath the mistletoe," he offers as if that were the answer.

Snow feels her brow furrow in confusion. "The parasite plant?"

A sharp bark of laughter is the Huntsman's response. "Aye, the very same." He turns his gaze back to her to peer at her carefully. "Who taught you that?" he quizzes with sudden interest.

"Beith," she answers, confused at his expression of surprise. She shrugs delicately. "I was curious what the clump of leaves on a birch was and he told me."

"That's all he said about it?" the man presses in a strange tone.

She's grown accustomed to hearing the undertones in innocuous questions from her time at Court and hearing it in Eric's, Snow realizes that there was something she was clearly missing. "Is there more?" she challenges quietly.

To her everlasting amazement, Eric seems to grow just slightly redder in the face, before turning his head and rubbing the back of his neck as he shifts his weight. "Perhaps your tutors aren't doing such a good job as to not explain traditions to you," he mutters uncomfortably.

"Then perhaps you can tell me," she entreats, laying a hand on his arm. As he glances back at her and then her hand, she manages a small smile. "Please?"

Eric is less than thrilled at the request, but complies nonetheless. "It's been a tradition since before I was born that when a lass such as yourself was caught under the mistletoe that she had to wait for a young man to come to kiss her before going free."

"Imprisonment?" Snow asks; her tone even but baffled.

The Huntsman huffs out a brief laugh. "More like a courting gesture. Most young girls were happy to be there and plenty of lads were willing to kiss a pretty thing free."

"How long are they supposed to kiss?" she questions innocently, still surveying the couple.

"Not _that_ long," he snorts, gesturing to the enthralled pair.

* * *

The festivities have dwindled and most are long to bed after a night of feasting and fun. Despite the fact that she knows there are guards posted, Snow feels like she's the only one left awake as she traverses the hallways. Her mind is too full for her to properly rest, and so her feet guide her through the castle in an effort to grow weary enough to sleep.

When she comes to a cross section of the hallway, her eyes catch sight of a well-known figure sitting in one of the carved out window seats, drinking from a skein. She shuffles closer and in doing so, catches his attention.

"It's late," Eric states unnecessarily.

She glances up at him from her lashes. "I couldn't sleep."

"Where's the Queen's guard?" he wonders aloud as he scans the hallway in search for one of the many meant to shadow her every move.

"Still at their posts," she informs him defiantly.

"You shouldn't be out by yourself," Eric scolds her like a child. "Anyone could get to you out here." He's referring to all the guests she's housing during the week. Her subjects, yes, but still relative strangers to her, and it's something that's been driving the Head of her Guard mad with all the extra scrutiny and manpower he's spending on keeping a close eye on anyone that doesn't live there.

"I'm safe, Eric." No one would dare harm her. He knows as well as she that her subjects love her and the Light that she's brought back to the land keeps her beyond reproach. It something that humbles her greatly, but she knows she's perfectly secure within her walls. "I walk when I can't sleep. Will you join me?"

It's an offer and an olive branch. If he's so worried about her safety, he can walk with her as an honor guard, though she's well aware that if it comes to it, he will do the duty as well.

He grumbles about her still being troublesome as he caps the leather drinking pouch and stands. With him at her side, they continue on Snow's original route. The only sound between them is the slight sounds of their footsteps echoing against the flagstone.

"Why did you leave?" she asks carefully after they wandered for a finger's width on the candle.

"I did my duty," Eric states gruffly. "You didn't need a homeless Huntsman around."

She jerks her head sharply at that statement. "Homeless?" she repeats.

"I sold my cabin," he explains. "Wanderers don't need a home."

"If you do not have a home, then-"

"Then I come and go as I please," he interrupts. "And sleep where I land."

She wants to ask so many questions about his travel and what he's been doing and where he's been sleeping, but by then they've approached the great hall and Eric stops them at one of the open doorways, stilling her with an outstretched hand and stepping closer to her as he peers carefully into the dark room, searching for anything that might lie in wait to harm Snow White.

She's used to this behavior, having experienced this during their travels together and merely looks around herself as she waits for him to deem it safe to continue. As she looks up, she can't help the small intake of breath.

It catches the Huntsman's attention and he darts a glance back at her questioningly.

"Mistletoe," Snow breathes, pointing upwards at the keystone in the arch of the entryway.

"Aye." Eric's voice is equally soft in her ear.

Recalling the lesson she received earlier that evening she turns her eyes to his face, somehow both smooth and full of apprehension. "Are we...?"

He turns his head, jaw flexing. "It's just a silly gesture," he insists. "The Queen doesn't have to do anything she doesn't wish to." He looks back at her as she once again places her hand on his arm.

"What kind of Queen would I be if I cannot follow my people's traditions?" she returns quietly. And with that she raises up on her tiptoes to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, ignoring the way her face feels on fire as she pulls back and her heart beats just a little bit faster.

Eric is unnaturally still after the action, determinedly not looking at her.

At once her stomach plummets and she fears she's made a grave mistake. Had she done it wrong, or even worse, offended him somehow? "Eric," she begins, ready to apologize for whatever offense she's committed. She's trying her best to ignore the tiny voice in the back of her head that whispers that she might have run him off again.

But then his hand is under her chin, lifting it up to meet him as he draws impossibly close. "Tell me..." he pleads, "Tell me to stay away."

Something sharp clenches inside her at his tone. Her heart is hammering wildly in her chest at the thought that he might do just that if she so bids. And she can't. She's missed his company too much, and tonight she's enjoyed herself more than she had in such a long time with the wine and the food and the dancing and sharing the happiness with her people and _**him**_, she's feeling selfish, but she can't help it.

She wraps a delicate hand around the wrist of the hand that holds her chin, stroking her thumb against his skin, just as he's doing the same to her jaw. "Stay," she begs. "Just stay..."

And there is no more to say, because Eric's mouth is on hers and there is a jolt that runs through her body at the contact.

She may have gone through most of her adolescence without the experience of the stories of young romance and desire that she's heard whispered among the castle, but she's certainly making up for it now, she thinks, as the longing she's been having for the Huntsman-HER Huntsman suddenly makes sense and the tiniest part of her brain that isn't being infused with everything Eric lets her know that this feeling is love. And somehow, it seems to be returned.

He pulls back, breathing harshly and looks deep into her eyes, obviously trying to figure out what she is thinking.

The flush has run full down her face and neck, but Snow maintains eye contact, as if he is the only thing that tethers her, and in this moment, she honestly believes that is. "Stay," she repeats softly.

Slowly, the corner of his lips pull back in that familiar smirk. "Aye," he agrees.


End file.
